Mungo Park was a famous traveller in Africa. He went into countries where no white man had been before, and he saw places which no white man had seen. He tells us many curious things, but perhaps nothing is more amusing than what he says about the frogs. At a certain place that he visited, he went to a brook to let his horse drink; but what was his surprise to find it almost covered with frogs, who kept bobbing up and down, so that his horse was afraid to put his nose into the water. At last Mr. Park was obliged to take a bush and give the frogs a flogging, before he could make them get out of the way so as to let his poor beast quench his thirst. A Child lost in the Woods. The Bangor Whig of the 11th of June contains an affecting account of a search made at Linnæus, in the Aroostook country, for a little girl of nine years, the daughter of Mr. David W. Barbar, who, on the 4th, was sent through the woods to a neighbor’s, half a mile distant, to borrow a little flour for breakfast. Not returning that day, the next morning about forty of the neighbors set out to hunt for her, but spent the day without success. The next day sixty searched the woods, with no better fortune. The following morning between two and three hundred of the settlers assembled early, anxious and fearful for the safety of the lost child. “The company set out,” says the Whig, “for a thorough and a last search. The child had been in the woods three days and nights, and many hearts were sunk in despondency at the utter hopelessness of finding it alive. But to learn its fate or restore it was the determined purpose of each. Half the day had been expended in advancing into the forest. It was time for returning; but who could think of doing so while an innocent child might be wandering but a few rods in advance? On the company pushed, still deeper into the dense wilds. The sun had reached the meridian, and was dipping down toward the west. It seemed vain to look farther, and slowly and heavily those stout-hearted men brushed a tear from their cheeks, gave up all as lost, and, as their hearts seemed to die within them, commenced their return. The line was stretched to include a survey of the greatest possible ground; not a bush or tree, where it was possible for a child to be concealed, within the limits of the line, was passed without diligent search. Those at the extremities of the lines tasked themselves to the utmost in examining the woods beyond the lines. They had travelled for some time, when, at the farthest point of vision, the man on one flank thought he saw a bush bend. He ran with swelling heart. He hesitated. Was it his imagination? He gazed a moment. The bush bent again, and the head of the little wanderer was seen! He rushed forward, and found the little girl seated upon a log, and breaking the twigs she had plucked from the bush which so providentially led to her discovery. She did not